Monsters in Her Mind: Sleeper Saga
by Aldrian Kyrrith
Summary: Sequel to Monsters in Her Mind (please read that first if you haven't). In the ruin of Brockton Bay, Cauldron investigates and the Sleeper has a role to play.
1. Prologue

It is quiet in the Dreamlands. It so often is.

Dmitri stands alone with a book in his hand, looking out across a barren gorge. A castle stands in the distance, teetering on the edge of a precarious cliff. He resided there once, before the Golden Man passed through, on his way from world to world. The land is still blighted from the Destroyer's passage.

Above him the sky is a dark, blood stained red, and the moon shines over head. If he closes his eyes, and peers with other senses, he can see cracks in that firmament, spidering out like some busted window pane, cutting across the universe entire. It is a desolation far worse than anything the Destroyer could manage, or anything he had ever imagined possible. He shudders at the thought.

A voice, high pitched and youthful, interrupts his musings. "Yeah, some things don't do well to think about, do they?"

He turns to find a teenage girl with blonde hair and freckles across the bridge of her nose. She mock shudders at his attention. He studies her, and turns his other attentions at her, and is not comforted by what he sees. There's a glimmer of a shadow there which he can't quite perceive, but it's still there, just beyond his reach, and that's enough to make him turn away.

"Yeah, yeah," she prattles on, "I'm sure I'm quite scary and all that. Quite the complement, coming from a walking nightmare like yourself."

He turns his hollow eyes upon her, but not for long. "I saw what happened at Brockton Bay."

"And I was there," she snaps back, before turning her attention back towards the castle teetering above the blight. "Shiny digs. Felicitations and all that."

"It's not mine," Dmitri says.

"Well no," the woman says, "I suppose you wouldn't want to lay claim to it, seeing as it is now." Here she paused, and gestures towards what lies underneath that castle, down in the abyss beneath his feet. It had once been beautiful and verdant, overflowing with life both strange and miraculous, but all that's left of that valley is rotting fetid swamp. Shadow-things pulsate within the mire, crying out, trapped in a half life.

They stand side by side, in silence, this young woman who is anything but and the Nightmare of Earth Bet. The girl gives him an exasperated half smile. "Go on," she says, "I bet you're dying of curiosity; I suppose I would be too. So go on, do whatever it is you Sleeper-types do."

Dmitri studies the young woman with the freckles and takes the invitation, though some part of him dreads what he suspects he's soon to find. She turns her eyes upon him, catching his own eyes, and he can see his face reflected in each iris. They are looking at one another, and he's now reaching out with his mind, casting his consciousness towards her own, and what he sees surprises him. He sees a human on the precipice of becoming something more, and lingering there in the deepest shadowed corners of her soul, he can sense something else, something he'd only caught a glimpse of before. It's ancient, far older than the Golden Man, far older than anything he's ever met at that, older even than Father Dagon beneath the sea.

He feels its attention turn, and he can sense a wicked smile draw wise, a terrible smile void of face or body, and in that same moment, he sees the stars die out, and he finds himself faced with the image of a dead universe, empty of anything save the Outer Ones themselves.

And then there are the two Dreamers, standing in the wreckage of the Dreamlands. "I see," he says.

"You don't," she answers, and he can't challenge the words. But he can still speak with her, whatever she might happen to be. How long has it been? Since he'd had company, in places such as these?

"I still wonder why you came here. Surely you have more important things to do than speak with me?"

"Oh?" she asked, and her mouth stretches into another smile. He could see her practically twitching with amusement, toying with him, like a cat to his bird. She seems to do that a lot. Smile. So much so that, in a million million years from now, that smile will be all that's left of her.

"You were at Brockton Bay. I'm sure you had a hand in how things played out."

The blonde woman shudders at the memory, and isn't that interesting in itself? Considering the horrors he'd seen sleeping in her soul. "An interesting reaction, given what you are."

"You weren't there," she grouses, arms crossed, looking steadily ahead. "Trust me, what happened in Brockton Bay, that's not something I'm at all interested in reliving."

"Yet you carry far worse knowledge within you." He's watched her, studied how she held herself so tense, practically shaking. "And it spooks you, to know all this. You who would so prize what you might know, it's ironic isn't it? That you would choose to forget, to pretend to be less than what you are?"

Lisa shrugs, not bothering to deny his challenge. "I am what I am, what I choose to be."

"So are all of us," Dmitri agrees.

Lisa chuckles in spite of herself. "For such a bogeyman, you're really not so bad. Really, I'd never have guessed you went around eating cities."

Dmitri shrugs, "All is relative, no? Even us bogies have their bogies, and we both know what happened the last time one of your kind came under threat."

"I'm not like Taylor," Lisa snaps, and perhaps she's being truthful (she's not the One she serves after all), but neither is she anything save what she is.

"You aren't," he agrees. "Yet we both know where you'll still be standing a billion years from now, when the rest of this has dissolved to dust."

Lisa doesn't say anything to that. He smiles softly, "You keep clinging to humanity."

Lisa shrugs, "As long as she still fights, so will I. Besides, I figure I have more than a few centuries to keep on living, before all this comes tumbling down."

Dmitri frowns, "You've much less time than that."

Lisa turns to face him, and he can see the surprise on her face. He chuckles softly, "So there are some things even you don't know."

She looks at him, and in an instant, something far older seems to awaken from within her. Its gaze is enough to send shivers down his spine. "Zion," it says.

"He is a danger. I know quite well what the – what do you call it again? Yes, Endbringer. I know what the Endbringer did to your charge. That will pale next to the damage a Destroyer might do."

The woman closes her eyes and she's Lisa once more. She's rubbing her forehead, exasperated. "Fuck, I really don't need this, you know? Just a few years, me and Taylor, maybe hanging out on a beach somewhere, soaking in the sun? Is that too much to ask?"

"I assume you can't just dispose of the Destroyer?"

Lisa frowns, "Taylor could." She laughs. The laugh sounds bitter and raw. "Of course, she'd dispose of everything else too, so yeah, that's not an option I'd really like to put on the table, and as for myself... well, I'll admit, I'm not sure I'm much more useful in that respect. Gotta keep Taylor on the straight and narrow, and I don't think our powers work quite like that. If I were to fight Scion, I doubt I'd be returning from it"

"Not as you are now," the Sleeper observes. Lisa shudders violently beside him.

"So I guess it falls to the rest of you then," she says, matter of factly, almost blasé. She turns her head to face him, and with a great deal more honesty, she adds a quiet "Good luck."

The Sleeper shrugs. "I had made plans to flee should the Destroyer show his true face. Tumble back into the Dreamlands, and I find a new place to settle down. I suppose that's not much of an option anymore is it?"

Lisa laughs. "Nope. Sorry. If everyone dies, you'll be going down with the rest of us."

The Sleeper smiles thinly. "Like with Brockton Bay?"

Lisa scoffs. "Oh trust me, it'll be much worse than Brockton Bay."

"No pressure," the Sleeper says, and then he's gone. Lisa stands alone, looking out at the blight.

When she closes her eyes, she sees the stars blink out.


	2. Chapter 1 - part 1 (Legend)

1.1 (Legend)

The streets are like a graveyard, as evening sets in. Dusk has always carried its share of threats, especially in a world like Earth Bet, but in the wake of Leviathan's attack, in the wake of what happened afterwards... Legend can't deny that even he looks over his shoulder on occasion, wondering what he might see.

Fortunately, there's nothing there. People have kept inside. Even with the power out and their homes flooded, they've kept to their homes (and what remained of them) or their shelters. Either that or they'd fetched their cars and fled the city altogether. He can't blame them really. He can't say just how much he'd rather get out of this place and fly back home.

A Cell Phone rings. PRT issued of course. He picks it up, checks the Caller ID, and smiles fondly.

"Simon," the voice on the other end says. "I just called Headquarters. They said you were sent to Brockton Bay..." His voice goes silent. Simon can hear the worry in it.

He looks up towards the twilight sky, and his mind flashes back to the events of the past week. He'd faced his share of Endbringer fights over the years, and though you can never really get used to that kind of madness (fuck it if he can't remember all the friends he'd lost over the years), still, at the same time, nobody could have expected what had happened this time. He can still remember the experience quite clearly, but damn it if he can make any sense of it. He holds his head in his hand, as the memories overtake him, of skies filled with a winged menace, and streets crowded by protoplasm.

"Simon!" The voice on the other end calls out. "Simon, is everything okay?"

He smiles in spite of himself. Even after all these years, some things never change. Arthur's always been a worrier.

"Sorry. I suppose I was spacing out just a bit. You know, the memories are still raw."

"I'm sorry," Arthur says. "You want to talk about it?"

"Give me some time," says Simon. "Let me try and wrap my head around things."

"Brave new world, am I right?"

Simon chuckles, "Wouldn't be the first time."

There's quiet on the other end. Then, quietly, tentatively, Arthur adds, "But still, everything's okay. There's nothing left over, going bump in the night?"

Simon smiles, "No. Don't worry. I won't deny, it's awkward being out here. I'm sure you can imagine that the streets are quite deserted..."

"I don't blame them."

"No," Simon agrees, "Certainly not. If I didn't have a job to do, responsibilities to oversee, I'd probably be holed up as well. Find the most out of the way motel I can find, lock the doors, shut the blinds, and buckle down for the night."

"But that's not an option, is it?"

"No," Simon says. "Still, it's not so bad, and we haven't really found any evidence of any remnant, and I very much doubt those things could keep a low profile. Still, if it's any consolation, at least the crime rate's gone down a bit. I can't say I expect that to hold, but still."

"Always have to look for the silver lining," Arthur says.

Simon is quiet, thinking back to the events of the past weeks. To the bodies dug up in the shelters, all those stories of human beings devoured, digested by things out of nightmare. There was an additional story, of a girl walking through the thick of things, through the nightmare with a smile on her face, while the monsters receded before her.

It's quite the Urban Legend, though it's certainly spooked Rebecca enough. David as well. Between the PRT and Cauldron, it seems they've managed to conjure up a name to go with the myth, and the name is Tattletale. A small time criminal, who'd stayed largely off the radar; a few small scale cons and robberies, then gone quiet, which barely constitutes a record at all.

"Everything okay?"

"Oh, sorry. Just thinking."

"You want to talk about it?"

"I'd love to, but you know how these things go. Classified I'm afraid. Still, don't worry so much. I promise, there's nothing left over, not so much as a single report on record."

"More than enough Urban Legends though," Arthur grouses.

"Yes, there is at that. Just, take care of yourself. And Keith. Even without whatever happened here, the world's a dangerous place."

"I will. I'm not that hopeless you know." There's modest laughter. "I'll have you know I took self defense classes from the best."

"Yeah. Just take care of yourself. I love you."

"I love you too."

He ends the phone call, puts the phone back in his pocket. The silence becomes all the more awkward, all the more stifling, now that Arthur's hung up.

He keeps walking. Some small part of him would much rather make his rounds flying, but you miss a lot when you're in the air (so many tiny subtle details), and when it comes to mapping out the tenor of a place, there's much to be said for the leisurely stroll, and he isn't in a hurry anyway, and he's never let fear dictate his actions. He won't start now.

He turns a corner, to find the faded remains of graffiti washed out from the storms. It comes in glaring colors, filled with profanities and bellicose challenges, and he sees the letters ABB sprayed painted in more than a few alleyways. He'd heard that these parts had been hit heavily by gang warfare only a few weeks before. The entire Docks had practically gone up in flames, the stalemate ending with violence in the streets.

It's quite the striking change. There's not so much as a mugger to be found. And what few gang members he does come across don't seem to have any interest in their usual antics. Everyone keeps their heads down, spooked by what lies hidden in the shadows.

As he continues his silent patrol, a steady drizzle begins to set in, and he finds one rather obvious exception to the rule, but then again, the leader of the ABB has always been an exception to a great many rules. Kenta seems to notice him, and perhaps there is a flash of recognition in his eye, for he approaches him, taking the direct path, eyes forward, without a trace of strain in his shoulders. Perhaps Alexandria could glean more from this show of confidence, determine how much of it is authentic and how much an act, but Simon's no Rebecca, and never has been.

Kenta stops beside him. Simon's always been a tall man, with chiseled features and a solid build (attributes his costume has always played up), but then again, the same can be said of Lung, who's about as intimidating as anyone Simon's ever met. He doesn't do much of a job of hiding his identity either, for though he doesn't wear his mask, and comes adorned in a tee shirt and jeans (hardly intimidating fare), he can see the tattoos the man wears so proudly. They stand side by side.

"I was wondering when the Triumvirate would come," the gang leader says, his voice a low rumble. "Have you come to fight?" He smiles grimly, "I remember last time. It was fun."

"No," Legend says, holding his hands up, but very much on edge.

"Yet you come to my territory. It is interesting. It's a long time since your people were so bold. You used to be more skittish than that."

"We're not after you," Legend says, still keeping his distance. For the moment, Lung doesn't look particularly hostile, but he's always been hot blooded. Things can quickly go south when Lung is involved. "We're investigating."

Lung nods. "Nightmare City," he says. "That's what they call us now."

"Yes," Legend says. "It's spooked a great many people. Powerful people, as you can imagine."

Lung laughs. It carries a hint of violence. "Yes, they call us the Nightmare City, as if Kyushu was anything but a nightmare. You wonder what has changed, or if anything has changed at all."

Legend shrugs. "You were here. You may not have fought Leviathan, but you were still here. You know what the city became."

"Yes," Kenta says. "In my life, I've walked many roads. Seen many things. Heard many stories. This isn't the only Nightmare City, though it is the first I called home."

And that is enough to catch Simon's attention. "If there's anything you know, anything you can share, or even suspect."

"I have no interest in opposing the Protectorate, not this time. I will give you all the aid I can, but I will not fight for you. I am no chained dog, as well you know."

"We don't expect you to be. But any assistance would be appreciated."

Kenta smiles, apparently satisfied. There is something chilling about that smile. "Very well. Let me tell you a story. After Kyushu, after I fought and failed, I lived in China. Years."

"We know this," Legend says.

"Yes. I wouldn't be surprised. You government types know all about such things; about my time in China, my time with the Yàngbǎn."

"They couldn't hold you."

"No, but they tried." Lung smiles. "China is old country. Old culture. They remember things. Stories of older times." His smile grows wider. "I heard things, caught glimpses of faded remnants. I didn't think much of it then. I am above such superstition, but it made me curious all the same."

Legend is silent, and lets Lung build up his audience. The Gang Leader had always had a sense of drama. Enjoyed winding people up. "Any intelligence you can give us would be required."

"Yes, I heard legends, in scattered fishing villages on South China Sea. They tell stories of older days, of men who rise from ocean, from cities beneath the sea." Here Lung's smile widens. "Some stories speak of Shoggoths. I never believed them more than folklore."

Legend's hands grip into fists by his sides. "If you're winding me up..."

"And then came the day, and Brockton Bay became what you call Nightmare City. My fire burned through Shoggoths." He smiles wider. "It was interesting, to watch them burn. To hear them scream. To see legends die."

He turns his back. "I will keep you no further. Good luck. I look forward to seeing them return. Maybe next time, we kill them together. No?"

Legend calls on him to wait, to ask more questions, but Lung pays him no heed, and Legend knows that any efforts to detain him, to get more information out of him, would not be worth the effort required. There's many things Legend would say about the man, many of them negative, but willpower has never been something the Asian Gang Leader has lacked.

He pulls out a phone and dials a number. "Alexandria," he says. "There's a few things I've managed to learn. Things you'll want to look into."


	3. Chapter 1 - part 2 (Cauldron)

1.2 (Cauldron)

"He's been keeping secrets," Alexandria says, checking over a file. "I warned you he could be a liability. He's greedy, and not nearly as smart as he thinks he is." She takes two photos and places them side by side on the table. One shows a blond with freckles, the other is an awkward brunette, looking shyly away from the camera.

"You've found new information?" asks the Doctor.

"We already know Sarah Livsey, of course." Alexandria says.

"Yes, Calvert already briefed us: Thinker, and a powerful one at that. Advanced intuition."

"Which doesn't quite fit what Contessa described," Alexandria points out.

"You're saying he lied."

"By omission at least," Alexandria says. She gestures towards the second photo. "There's someone else I've been looking into. I'd think she's the key to this. Her name's Taylor Hebert." She smiles. "Interestingly, it seems the two have a strange kind of codependency." She thrusts the photo across the desk. "According to the records I've compiled, they're practically inseparable. Yet you say Coil never spoke a word of her."

The Doctor studies the photo. "You think she's a Parahuman?"

"I saw her during Leviathan's rampage. She was shredded, crushed, and she didn't die, not immediately at least. She just lay there bleeding out in the street, and then she vanished." Alexandria's voice is quiet, almost as if she doesn't believe herself. "That's what launched the incident. That's where it started."

"You're sure?"

"I was there," Alexandria says. The Doctor looks at the two photos side by side. The blonde girl in the heart of the storm and the brunette who started it all. Sarah Livsey and Taylor Hebert. "They knew each other, and if that's the case, it's not a stretch her Employer knew as well."

The Doctor frowns. "He has a lot to answer for."

"Yes. Do you intend to conduct the interrogation yourself?"

The Doctor nods. "I think it would be best if all three of us attend. It's critical that we get some answers, you understand."

"Of course."

A portal is opened, and they step through, into the house of one Thomas Calvert. The house is empty at the moment. Good. Surprise is something they can work with.

* * *

L

* * *

The lights switch on and the thin man pauses, goes white at the sight of the three women waiting in his kitchen. A knife slices through the tomato, spilling red juice upon the table. Contessa doesn't pause for so much a second: with mechanical precision, she slices and dices. Alexandria watches Calvert, and knows he's received the message.

Thomas looks at the three with calculating eyes (a villain's eyes) and Alexandria smiles grimly. He's like a snake. It's appropriate, given what he calls himself.

"Thomas Calvert," the Doctor says. Her tone is crisp, her demeanor cold and starkly professional. In some ways, she's just as mechanical as her Enforcer. "Or should we call you Coil?"

Calvert's eyes switch from woman to woman to woman, as he takes a seat at the table across from them. "Funny, I suppose I've been expecting you for a while now. You always do tend to find out everything, don't you." He settles his attention on Alexandria for just a moment, and smiles. "But I never thought you'd be part of this. The things you hero types conceal."

"You'll find we're not in the mood for your usual games," the Doctor says. Coil smiles amusedly.

"Yet he insists on playing them," Contessa says, matter-of-factly, yet there's something quietly menacing about the way she keeps on slicing and dicing through her tomatoes. Whether or not Calvert is unnerved by the display, he doesn't show it, not that it really matters for Alexandria. Coil glances at the woman in the suit. Contessa smiles. He gets the message.

Coil lounges back in his chair, studying the three women before him. "You know, I think you've lost your edge. You used to scare me, but just the other day, I was visited by a former associate." He shivered. "Even your Bogieman pales in comparison to that one."

"Lisa," says Alexandria.

"Yes. Interesting girl. You wouldn't believe how much I wish I'd never ran into her." He pauses, cocks his head, "Then again, maybe it's for the better that I did. So eager to prove herself. I wonder where we'd be without her?"

The Doctor grits her teeth, and tosses two photographs on the desk. One shows Lisa, the other Taylor Hebert. Coil nods his head placidly, taking Lisa's mugshot in his hand. "Yes, there she is. She can be quite scary, that one." He turns towards the other photo and deflates.

"You were hoping we wouldn't find out," the Doctor says.

"Taylor Hebert," Coil agrees. "Yes, I'll admit. I would rather you never heard that name. But you know the old proverb? If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

"You've been keeping secrets," Alexandria notes. "Dangerous ones."

"So I have," Coil agrees, looking at the Triumvirate hero. "Of course, I'd say the same thing to you, given what company you keep."

"Who is she?" asks the Doctor.

"He doesn't know," says Alexandria. Contessa continues slicing the tomatoes into narrow strips. "It's written in his body language. He doesn't know anything about her at all. But she scares him all the same. Scares him enough to double cross us."

"What did she see?" Contessa interjects, reaching out into his refrigerator, grabbing another tomato.

Coil looks back and forth between his interrogators. "I'll answer your questions if you'll answer mine."

"That's not how this works," says the Doctor.

"Acceptable," Contessa counters. "Ask your question."

Coil pauses, and Alexandria can see the gears moving in his head. She wonders what Contessa's playing at. Finally, Coil speaks, "Why? What is your goal? Of all of this? What are you after?"

The Doctor studies him and looks back towards Contessa. Contessa nods, and she says, "We're trying to save the world."

Coil starts laughing, but it's a bitter sound. "Really? Just the world? And just what have you done to safeguard such a thing?"

The Doctor frowns. "We answered your question. Now, answer ours..."

"What is your purpose?" Contessa interrupts, straight and to the point. "What is your goal?"

Coil smiles and gives a mocking bow. "Haven't you guessed? I'm trying to save the Universe."

Alexandria is silent, and pale. "He's speaking the truth," she says.

"You're sure?" the Doctor asks. "It sounds like he's playing more games."

Alexandria turns back to Coil. "He is, but he's not lying."

Coil looks between the three, "I know how you operate, and between the two of us, your methods can be rather blunt. Too blunt, given what's at stake." He picked up the two photos and showed it to them. "I don't know what it is you're fighting, and I don't care. Taylor and Lisa, what they are, what they're facing, it's something bigger than that. I kept silent because I couldn't risk what you'd do, if you knew. I'd still rather you didn't know."

"You should have told us," says the Doctor.

Coil smiles. "And yet the world's still spinning."

There's silence, and the three share a look. Contessa speaks out, coldly and quietly. "We've learned what we needed from him."

The Doctor frowns and looks back at Calvert, watching them, chuckling to himself. He looks back towards Contessa, still cutting through her tomatoes. "Is there anything else you need?"

Contessa serenely shakes her head. She picks up the knife and throws.

"Follow," she says, leading them down into his basement, where they find a laptop. "We needed to know what he knew, but more than that, we needed to have the why. Context matters. So now we know." She gathers his laptop, along with a flash drive, which she slips into her pocket. She taps her forehead. "Don't push."

"Door," she says and steps through, leading them to another room. It is dark and dank, and there's a girl lying asleep in a bed. Contessa smiles. "Hello Dinah. We've come to rescue you."

Four people leave. Alone in his house, Thomas Calvert slumps over, deceased in his chair.


	4. Chatper 1 - part 3 (The Dreamers)

1.3 (The Dreamers)

The bar is silent, almost empty, and in this it is unique. In the wake of Leviathan, after the nightmare came to Brockton Bay, many a watering hole is filled to bursting. The people gather, with their beers and whiskeys and wine, and they drink themselves to stupor, trying to forget what they have seen. They never do, not fully, but still they try.

But in this bar there are only three men: the bartender and the two men sitting side by side, looking over their cups. An oppressive chill seems to hover over the room, and the bartender looks towards his patrons, practically shaking.

One of the men is tall and pale, and he pages through his book, while he slowly nurses a glass of wine. Very expensive, for he has always prided himself on his taste. He looks up, towards the bartender, watching the sweat drip down his face. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, and it carries with it a hint of some foreign accent.

"You look nervous friend," the man says. "You wear your fear for all to see, but we are all friends here. What do they say, the barman is everyone's friend?"

The barman swallows and says nothing, only looks between his two patrons, and the two couldn't have made for a starker contrast. For where the one seemed a model of poise, the other looked a wreck, with unkempt clothes and wild eyes, sweat slicked hair and skin so sickly it bordered on gray. He's a regular in this pub: every day like clockwork he comes and he drinks until he cries himself to sleep. He has a habit of chasing away the other customers, but still he keeps returning.

The bartender's chased him out before, many times in fact, but he always slinks back. It's a minor miracle the man hasn't died yet.

"Not no one's friend," the drunkard slurs, and the bartender goes still. He sees the tall man turn towards the gibbering wreck, and he's frozen with terror. He prays to a God he doesn't believe in, because he's seen that face before, on news reports and television screens, heard stories stories of this man, of the things he's done. Sleeper.

"I'll just get you another drink," the bartender sputters. "Anything you want."

The Sleeper laughs, and slaps the drunkard on the back. "See Stephen? The truth comes out. I was right all along."

Something much like fear creeps across Stephen's face and the wreck looks up, nervous and afraid. For the first time, he looks upon the Sleeper and he shivers. "You know my name."

"Yes, yes. As well as you'd expect. Your story is quite famous in certain parts of the world. The things you saw."

Stephen shivers for a moment before turning back towards his cup, looking at the glass half empty. "Everyone's seen it now."

The Sleeper smiles and nods his head, looking back towards his book. "Yet not all are quite as broken down as you are. So I'm curious, what did you really see?"

The bartender looks towards the two men and towards the clock. He swallows, "Look, if you don't mind, I need to get wrapping up..."

"Nonsense," Sleeper says, standing up from the bar stool, and walking around behind the counter. He pulls out a bottle of wine. "The day's still young, so between us, I think it's fair to say there's plenty of drinking to be done, yes?"

More than anything the bartender wants to throw the man out, does not want to have any business of any party the Sleeper would be interested in. On the other hand: the fact that this is the Sleeper tends to make his decision for him.

"Oh, and barkeep, I would be most gratified if you did not alert any of the authorities to our little get-together, at least not for the time being, no? But if you wish not to stay, I won't insist on the matter. Go fly. Be free."

That's all the barkeep needs to hear before he is gone. Dmitri watches him leave, and soon there are only the two Dreamers. Dmitri smiles and holds up his glass. "Tell me, what did you see that made you this?"

Stephen shivers at the memory of the girl he'd pulled from the locker, and the thing that had spoken with. "Yes," Dmitri says, "A terrible, transcendental experience that must have been. Tell me, have you ever gone back?"

Stephen swallows. There's a reason he's always drinking. Why he tries to never fall asleep sober. "I saw a girl," he says, "If she was a girl. Maybe she wasn't. Never was. Couldn't have been." He takes another drink and then another, losing himself in his glass.

"You won't be much help, friend," Dmitri chided. He pauses, and grows more somber. "Not that I blame you. Human minds break too easily." He smiles, "But still, we share a rare privilege, knowing the truth of things."

Stephen laughs as the tears run down his face. He finishes his glass, holds his cup out and Dmitri pours him another glass. "I would be careful friend. At the rate your going you'll end up in an early grave."

"No matter. No difference all that," the man mumbles.

Dmitri shakes his head, looks up towards the clock on the wall. "You're a sore disappointment for company, has anyone told you that?"

Stephen mumbles something underneath his breath. Dmitri doesn't hear it. There's a chiming on the door, and the teenager enters the room, strutting towards him, pulling herself a stool. Stephen looks up at her, gapes for a moment, and mumbles something unintelligible towards her.

The teenager smiles pleasantly at the lush, before turning towards his counterpart. "Dmitri, it's been a while, I guess. So, how have you been settling in?"

"It's peaceful enough. I wonder how long it will be before that changes. Between the two of us, I think Brockton Bay will be an interesting place for the next few weeks."

"Oh?" the teenager asks, pulling a bottle of rum to make herself a cocktail of some sort or another. Dmitri watches her mix the drink, if it can even merit the honor of being called that. More a ghastly abomination than anything else.

"I didn't know it was legal for someone your age to drink," he says.

The girl shrugs, "Sometimes seventeen. Sometimes a billion. I think it averages out."

"Your taste is shit."

She takes a sip, gags, and spits out the ugly concoction. The Sleeper chuckles. "So there are just the three of us. I take it your master isn't coming?"

Lisa shakes her head, "She's with her father."

"I take it she's doing well then?"

Lisa shrugs, "As well as can be expected. She's coping; she's happy. I think I'm rather jealous. She gets to enjoy life in the world. I have to keep it spinning."

"Three Dreamers walk into a bar. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke," Dmitri says, pulling another glass from the counter, pouring it with a soda. He slides it her way. "You're too young for liquor."

Lisa shrugs, and as the glass reaches her, Dmitri smiles at her, as it changes color to a rich amber. "On second thought, maybe it's best not to anger would-be godlings. Be warned, the taste is strong."

Lisa guzzles it down and ends up gagging. Dmitri chuckles and she shakes her head. "You're enjoying this."

Dmitri shrugs, "In times like this, we find our pleasures where we are able, small and subtle though they may be."

Lisa holds her glass up to him and this time he fills it with water. "Read that from one of your books?"

"Oprah actually, or maybe Doctor Phil. One of those talking heads."

"I'm almost disappointed. I would have thought the Sleeper had better taste."

"Your world gets boring after a while, and sometimes I crave more trivial amusements. Besides, between television and the internet, your world has much to satisfy those cravings."

Lisa grabs a handful of peanuts. "I feel ashamed to share the same room as you. Next you'll be talking cat videos."

"They have a charm. Still, we've gone off topic, have we not?"

Lisa looks at him, and at the former janitor who seems lost in his own head. She frowns and shakes her head. She looks pensive, and to herself more than anyone else, says, "You know, I think that could have been me."

"You saw Yog-Sothoth, you saw the truth of the cosmos. You met the Deceiver in the Dreamlands and you left with your sanity intact. You've traveled worlds and emerged more than you were before." He smiles bitterly, "So no. I don't think that fate could ever have been yours."

She's quiet, and there's something like doubt in her eyes. "You know, I think I could probably return his sobriety, maybe even his functionality. Theoretically. Maybe."

"So could I," the Sleeper says. "He wouldn't thank you though. Some people cannot handle walking the paths we tread."

Lisa nods, "It would kill Taylor if she knew what she did to him."

"You wish me to take his experiences. Leave the memory of what he saw a glimmer of a dream."

"Yes."

Dmitri smiles, "You would be stealing his truth away from him. It's rather cruel, don't you think?"

"No crueler than leaving him like this," she says. "Besides, as he is now." She shudders, "I'm surprised he isn't dead yet."

Dmitri steps forward, takes Stephen Williams by the hand. Stephen looks up at him, and blanches, as the world goes out of focus. Then the two flicker out of existence, and then they are back, and Stephen lies sleeping on the floor. Dmitri looks towards Lisa. "It is done." He smiles, "Now two Dreamers sit in a bar."

She nods, looking away from him, fiddling with her drink. "It's unfortunate, you know, that he broke so utterly. I was a human once, and then I was a parahuman, and now I'm something else. I don't think anyone understood that. Not even Taylor. Not really." She looks into her glass.

"But he could have."

Lisa nods, smiling bitterly. "So I'm alone again. Human and Dreamer, not to mention something else entirely. Sitting with the Sleeper, sharing drinks in an empty bar." She laughs. "A year ago, I never would have guessed this would be my life."

"It's not so bad though, is it? The company's good at least." Dmitri smiles and looks back towards Stephen, snoring on the floor. His sleep is peaceful, which is a good sign. "Besides, even if I have stolen from him the vibrancy of his experiences, the memory still remains. They're dulled, stripped of all their potency, but still, he has potential. Maybe next time will go better, no?"

"Maybe next time he won't break."

Stephen sleeps, and the Dreamers drink in silence.


	5. Chapter 1 - Part 4 (Cauldron)

1.4 (Cauldron)

Dinah can still recall the vision. It comes to her when she closes her eyes. That one moment, crystal clear, when a girl should have died and the nightmare descended, when Dianh's power spiraled out of control. She closes her eyes, and can still see that moment, where the creatures poured forth from the void. It's frozen in her mind, like a painting or a photograph. That moment has since become quite well known, across the world. Brockton Bay, the Nightmare City, where an Endbringer died. And yet, when she closes her eyes, there is one image which stands out amid all that chaos, one moment, just an instant, and yet she knows that somehow, that moment is critical in all of this. A teenage girl shredded by Leviathan, staring ahead with lifeless eyes, leaking her insides in the soggy grime, still drawing breath, looking forwards, and not even Dinah can say what it is she sees.

A glass is put before her, filled with water, accompanied by a sandwich. She looks up towards the dark skinned woman in the doctor's coat. "Thank you," she mumbles, quietly. "My last keeper wasn't quite so kind."

"We're not kind," the Doctor says quietly. Her tone is harsh and robotic, and if there's a hint of self loathing beneath that tone, the woman will never admit to it, neither to Dinah nor to herself.

Dinah cocks her head, considers her keeper, and what she'd already done to her previous superior. Considers that while her new cage may be less cruel than the one Coil had kept her in, it's still a cage nonetheless. "No, I suppose you're not."

Dinah asks a question, runs the numbers, and is disappointed but not surprised by what they say. "You're not going to let me out of here," she says.

"You don't need to use your power to know that," the Doctor agrees.

Dinah shrugs, "Perhaps. But I was curious about the odds."

"Oh?" the Doctor asks, taking a seat across from her. "Enlighten me then. I suppose I'm curious as well."

"You're a real piece of work, aren't you?" Dinah says. "The odds are less than one in twenty."

"We're not proud of what we do," the Doctor admits, "But I'd like to think it's necessary."

"Do those words help you sleep at night?"

"No," the Doctor says, "We're all of us damned, I suppose."

"I'd agree with you there."

"But you already know that yourself," the Doctor says, ignoring Dinah's reply. "With your power, I'm sure you've seen a hint of what it is where up against. Why we turned on Coil, and why we collected you."

Dinah shivered, as she remembers her old room. She wraps her arms around herself. "He wasn't very nice."

"No," the Doctor says. "He was a monster, wasn't he?"

Dinah nodded and asked another question. She swallowed nervously. The odds were lower than she'd thought, but higher than she'd hoped. Single digit plus decimals. Improbable, but very much within the range of possibility. The Doctor caught her reaction. "What question did you ask yourself?"

"Candy," is all she says.

The Doctor sighs, and she looks as exhausted as she sounds. "I can guess what your power has told you."

Dinah studies the expression on that face, the look of a woman who's killed her own conscience, all in the name of necessity. After Coil, it's almost refreshing. This Doctor might be a monster, cruel and calculating, but Dinah can't call her sadistic, not like her previous master had been. In its own way, it almost comes as a relief, being rescued by such a person. After all she's seen and been through, she doubts she can stomach empty platitudes, agendas wrapped up in smiles.

"I'm sure you can."

"Well then, let's get to the point then. Why we've done the things we've done, and why we brought you here. What are the odds that any of us are still alive ten years from now?"

Dinah pauses. She stutters, for it is not in numbers that her answer comes. Another vision assaults her senses, and the vision is empty. Just darkness. Nothing. And across from her, the Doctor is watching, her mouth fixed in a harsh line. "Dinah, tell me what you see."

"Nothing," Dinah says. "There's nothing. Just darkness."

The Doctor nods, not entirely surprised. She remembered Coil's frustrations, when planning around one Taylor Hebert, how his power had broken down, becoming useless to him. Contessa had reported similar frustrations, back when she had encountered one Lisa Wilbourn aka Tattletale aka Sarah Livsey, over in Brockton Bay. A young teenage girl immune to Thinker Powers, much like her protege, and this was to say nothing of Scion, and the threat he had hanging over all of them.

That is, of course, assuming the best case scenario. The alternative, the Doctor has to admit, is that this emptiness is the future. It's a possibility she can't yet discount.

* * *

L

* * *

"It's worrisome, you must agree."

The Number Man nods, looking at the image captured on the screen. He smiles grimly, but there is something approving in his eyes. "Dragon always was thorough. I suppose it was only a matter of time. The correlation was always there, to those who would work them out."

"But you didn't say anything?"

The Number Man shrugs, "It was still supposition, and even when the math makes sense, I'd prefer to wait to see the evidence pile in. Besides, I didn't think it wise to provoke a confrontation. You remember Omsk?"

Alexandria remembers it well. The city doesn't exist anymore. It hasn't for a long time. "You think there's a connection."

"As I said, there's at the very least a strong correlation. I remember the stories coming out of Russia. I'm sure you've heard them too. Sleeper's survivors: the things they saw, the things they reported, of a blighted desert, of a gorge beneath a red sun. Brockton Bay must have seemed frighteningly familiar, if you remember the rumors."

They stare at the image onscreen. It's a photograph, taken just outside a small bar, and it shows a teenage girl standing side by side with Europe's most notorious Parahuman.

"You must admit, she's an interesting one. I remember what Contessa reported of their encounter." He chuckles softly, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say dearest Fortuna had been acting rather spooked. You have to give that one credit, it's not a reaction you see very often."

"You want to meet her," Alexandria says. She doesn't sound particularly enthused by the notion.

The Number Man nods. "Lisa Wilbourn. She's in the center of a rather improbable confluence of events. I can practically see the probabilities spinning around her. She's an interesting one. Taylor too."

"Interesting is one way to put it."

"Of course, knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised if you've already ordered psych evals for all of them. Still, Lisa Wilbourn and the Sleeper. Tell me, did you foresee them coming into contact?"

Alexandria hadn't. Honestly, given his history, it was surprising that he'd even left Russia..

"Fair enough, he's always tended towards passivity before," the Number Man notes, speaking as much to himself as to his comrade. "It's a fascinating change in his normal behavior. I think I'd like to speak with those two."

"So would I," Alexandria agrees.

"But you won't." It's not a question.

"The situation is volatile," Alexandria admits. She doesn't say anything more, and she doesn't need to.

"Have you told Legend?" Among everyone affiliated with Cauldron, he is the one best suited for making a positive impression. Not to mention, he's currently stationed in Brockton Bay.

Alexandria shakes her head, "He knows, with orders not to engage. Not until we know more at least. The same applies to everyone else."

The Number Man smirks. He can just imagine the bureaucratic battles Rebecca is likely to face in the near future. To find the Sleeper in Brockton Bay of all places... that's liable to create a panic, and he can just imagine what kind of policies her more militant subordinates will be advocating. "That policy's going to make waves. You know how those PRT Directors can get."

"I'm aware," Alexandria answers.

"So it's a waiting game then."

"Only for now."


	6. Chapter 1 - Part 5 (A Patrol)

1.5 (A Patrol)

The skies are overcast (they have been ever since Leviathan passed through) and the streets are silent. Clockblocker makes his way through the mists, Vista walking beside him. He doesn't remember the streets being quite so empty before. But then, he supposes, he can't blame anyone for keeping indoors. He doesn't particularly like being out here either. Save perhaps Sophia, no one does. Not after what happened in these very same streets.

He can remember the smell of blood and sweat as they mixed in with the rain, and the sight of people being carried off into the sky screaming as they had been dropped back down to Earth, falling like meteors, or being sucked into one of those countless gelatinous masses, digested alive. It feels like an eternity ago and it feels like it could have been yesterday. He wonders if the nightmares will ever stop.

"You remembering again?"

The words cut through the air between them, through the tense silence. "You caught that?" he asks.

Vista shrugs, "You're a lot quieter than you used to be. Besides, it's not too hard picking up the signs."

He nods, looking ahead towards the empty streets. "It's strange, I'm not used to the city being quite so quiet. It's like something out of a horror movie."

"Yeah well, this entire city might as well be something out of a horror movie, after what happened here." They stop before a building with broken windows and a collapsed roof. Vista looks at it, and remembers what it used to be. "This was a store once. Pretty nice actually. You think they made it out?"

Silence lingers between the two of them. "I thought it would get better," Clockblocker says. "With time, maybe the memory would fade."

"I didn't. Hell, you think you had it bad, but you didn't feel it. The way space was warping around itself that day, like my power had gone on steroids, though I wasn't doing anything. Believe me, those things... they didn't come from here."

"Sounds fun," Clockblocker says. "As if everything else wasn't enough. Huh, you think there's some mad Tinker running around? You ever see _The Mist?_ Maybe it was like in the movie."

"Don't even go there," Vista snapped. "Just shut your mouth about it."

They pass from one street and make a turn onto another, stepping through the rubble. At least the power lines have been cleaned up, but the streets remain cracked and waterlogged, and there are broken down cars (half devoured some of them, and isn't that a weird sight, rusted away and worn down by what looks like acid), still sitting where they had been abandoned. It's hard to believe that only a few weeks ago, this was a thriving commercial center (or about as thriving as Brockton Bay got). Now...

"The city's dying," Vista says.

"It's been for a while," Clockblocker agrees, look at the wreckage.

"Not like this."

Aegis's voice rings out over the com. "Sounds quiet. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Clockblocker says. "Freaky as all hell in a way, seeing the city become a ghost town, but still, I suppose it could be worse."

There's silence over the radio. Until Clockblocker decides to break it, of course. "Any instructions for us, oh fearless leader?"

"Just checking in. I wanted to let you know, Legend's started another flyover. If you run into any problems, call it in."

"I doubt we'll run into anything, but sure."

"Good, and Clockblocker. Vista. Be careful, both of you. Just because it's quiet these days doesn't make it any less dangerous."

"Yeah, yeah," Vista says. "I know how the song and dance works. We'll keep in touch, call things in if they ever get dicey."

"Heh, imagine if we find Lung around the next street corner?"

"Don't even joke about it Clock," says Aegis. "Good luck. Over and out."

"Well then, shall we keep going?" Clockblocker says.

"Lay on Macduff," Vista says.

They make their way slowly, chattering back and forth as they go, trying not to dwell on the desolation around them. They run across a few drunks laying about in alleyways, most without a home to go to, and pass a shelter or two as they go. They make a stop at one of those Shelters, just to make sure there's nothing amiss. Tensions have been high since Leviathan, since the nightmare came to Brockton Bay, and besides, being out in the desolate streets, staring at what used to be a thriving city and is now most definitely not, it gets creepy after a while.

They get the okay. "Be careful," Aegis says. "Don't make any trouble." And they're in, helping pass a few blankets to protect from the chill. Outside the sky is getting darker, and soon the Moon will come up. It doesn't help the eeriness at all.

They speak to the Director there, to determine whether the Shelter requires any aide, any government assistance. They linger a few more minutes among the crowded hustle and bustle, watching the volunteers scurry forth. Some among the Homeless here wear expensive clothes, silver watches and fine shoes. Others show all the hallmarks of poverty. It's a tragic hodgepodge which illustrates just how badly off the city is right now.

They leave the Shelter, go out into the cold wet streets. They walk slowly, and in a way, now they're waiting for the timer to run down. They're already planning to make their way back towards HQ. Patrols aren't what they used to be. Not anymore.

And yet they don't move. Not immediately. Vista feels as if there's something off. A displacement of sorts in the air, and she feels a chill run down her neck. She looks out across the street, to find she's no longer alone. There's someone else there. Been there since they'd been in the shelter.

There's a girl standing across the street from them. She's thin, with dark hair running long, and she's dressed in a coat far too big for her, big enough for her to drown in. She's looking out past them, towards the Shelter, and on her face is a look that is almost as desolate as the city itself. There's a mournful sadness about her. It's almost pitiable.

She smiles at them, "There was a time I followed you guys. In the news and the Messageboards. Funny how small all of that looks nowadays."

Clockblocker swallows, because the girl is young (perhaps younger than he is), and fuck, even he doesn't want to be here, and at least he has powers. "Look Miss, do you have somewhere you can go to?"

"There is the Shelter right across the street," the girl points out evenly, and Clockblocker for a moment feels like a fool. Sue him, he doesn't know quite how to handle living in this current Brockton Bay. None of them do. "But yeah, to your answer, I suppose I do have places to be, but sometimes you just need to get away, you know?"

Clockblocker shrugs, "I guess I can understand, I suppose, in a way."

"You don't," she says, but there's no judgment in the words, or cruelty. Just sad resignation. "But that's okay too. Few people do."

"Are you okay?" Clockblocker asks. She looks at him and her gaze is piercing, and for a moment, he forgets that he's the one with the superpowers. "Look, it's okay if you are, or if you're not, it's just..."

"The streets can be scary," Vista cuts in. "After what happened here."

The intensity diminishes again, and the stranger looks downward, huddles inwards against herself, and again there's that impression crushing mournfulness. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Well, it's not like it's your fault, right?" Clockblocker asks, leaning against the nearest wall. He regrets it. The wall is damp and grimy. The girl chuckles nervously, and mumbles an unconvincing yeah his way.

"It'll be all right," Vista chirps beside him. "We've recovered from these kinda things... well, maybe not that kinda thing I guess, but this is hardly the first catastrophe the city's had to weather."

The girl smiles their way, but the smile seems stretched, like a person trying to smile, not entirely real. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Look," Clockblocker says, "if you need to talk to someone, anyone, there are phone lines, people you can talk to. Should talk to. I mean, we're not Professionals or anything but..."

The girl shakes her head, and smiles again, and this time the smile is smaller, less forced, more real. "That's okay. I've already got someone for that. Two people actually. Don't worry, I'm not going to fucking off myself or anything. I'm not quite that far gone..."

Clockblocker swallows, because that really doesn't sound good. God, he's feeling out of his depth. "Well, that's good... I suppose. Still, there are numbers. Hot-lines if you need them. Give me a sec and..."

She smiles towards them. "I know what you're saying, and I suppose I can appreciate it." She laughs bitterly. "You sound like decent people. I wish I knew more people like you."

Clockblocker frowns, while Vista watches silently from behind. "It sounds like you have a rough life."

The girl shrugs. "It's been difficult, but as you said, I'm not quite alone. Just because most people in my experience tend to suck, doesn't mean they all do. I know a few good people. My best friend for one, though come to think of it, she can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Still, sometimes you just need to get away. Look out at the world, gain some perspective."

"So you come out here? No offense, but it's a rather dismal scene, isn't it?"

"Yes," the girl says. "I suppose it is."

The conversation is cut off by the sound of a cell phone. The girl reaches into the pockets of that oversized coat to pull out her phone, and the two Wards remain silent, listening to one half of a conversation. "Oh, hey dad. Yeah, I'm fine, just off on my own. You know how it gets. No, Lisa's not here right now. You know how she gets. Yeah, real free spirit that one. You coming to get me then? Yeah, I'll wait right here then. Thanks. See ya soon."

She looks back at them, and there is a warmth in her expression, as if the conversation had awakened something in her. "Sorry, that's my Dad. He gets worried sometimes."

"With good reason," Clockblocker agrees.

She nods, "Yeah, I suppose. So, I take it you're on patrol?"

"Yeah, Vista and I."

"Sorry for distracting you."

"It's fine," Vista chimes in. "Not like we were doing much of anything. Streets are rather empty these days, you know."

"If you want someone to wait with you..."

"Oh, we can talk!" Vista chirps up. Clockblocker shoots her a look. "What? It gets boring after a while, you have to agree with me there. Not like there's anyone around recording us, right?"

The girl laughs abruptly. She stops just as swiftly when their attention turns towards her. She swallows nervously. "Sorry, sometimes I just forget what normal people are supposed to look like."

"Us. Normal. Vista, I think I should be insulted."

"And I think your new friend there should get her head checked out. Clockblocker normal. Makes me wonder what kind of people you're hanging around."

They wait a few minutes as the sky turns a little darker. A car pulls up and a thin balding man with glasses steps out. "Taylor, you ready?"

The girl's face brightens. "Dad," she shouts back, and she sounds so much lighter than she had only moments before, running down the street and disappearing into the front passenger side seat. Her father looks at the two Wards. "Thank you," he says.

"It was nothing," Clockblocker says, waving off the gratitude.

"Still, I know what it can be like to be lost in your own thoughts. The demons which can set in."

Vista looks towards the girl waiting in the car. "Did she lose anyone? During the attack I mean?"

"That's something I don't think I can answer," the father says. "Let's just say she's had a tough couple of months, and leave it at that."

"I'm sorry," Clockblocker offers as the man gets into the car and drives away.

Vista contacts Headquarters. "Yeah, we're on our way back now. No, nothing really important happened. Just ran into someone. It wasn't a Cape if that's what you mean. Just someone who looked lost, alone on the street. Yeah, we'll tell you everything when we get back. On our way."

The two head back alone. 


	7. Chapter 1 - Part 6 (The Godling)

1.6 (The Godling)

The ocean's violent beneath a gibbous moon. Taylor stands, alone amid the waves. Her eyes are closed and she thinks, sometimes, that if she can just keep her eyes closed, lose herself in the sensations, forget all the pain and trauma, if she can just let down her burden for just one moment...

"It never works, you know."

She opens her eyes and turns around, to find a man standing there upon the beach. He is dressed in a rumpled suit, with the tie half undone around his neck. He is a bookish man, and for a moment, an image flashes across Taylor's subconscious, of that same man sitting alone in a library, with books scattered upon the floor. (It is accompanied by another image, of a broken ruined place which is all too familiar to her).

Taylor watches him silently, waiting for him to speak. He obliges. "Do you think, coming here, makes things easier? The things you've done and seen?"

"So you know?" she answers.

He shrugs. "I know enough. More than most here, in any respect. The Sages have a name for you."

"I know," she breathes out. "So you're one of them?" She shivers; there's a memory of her doppleganger speaking to her in a dream.

"It depends. Who are you speaking of? Them is a vague proposition. Far too broad for any use."

"You're talkative for a monster. She was too."

He watches her as she stands there, alone in the surf. "Do you think we're the same? Me and this creature you speak of?"

She looks at him, really looks at him, and shakes her head. He's real. She can see that, feel it, taste it on her tongue. The Doppleganger on the other hand? She hasn't seen her in a long time, not since that final day, when Leviathan shredded her body on the pavement, not since she'd learned what she'd needed to know, became what she'd needed to be. He smiles at her, agreeably enough. "So you have an answer then."

"Yeah."

"Care to share?"

Taylor shakes her head. He smiles all the same. "It's good, to hold onto secrets. To keep an air of mystery. Very useful, keeps the unenlightened off your trail."

"And do you consider yourself enlightened?"

"I think I'm part of a select few. Whether it makes me hallowed or cursed, I cannot say. Still, each way's a tragedy."

She scoffs at his words. "You always like spouting psychobabble?"

The man shrugs, "Being pedantic, it's a hobby, I'll admit. Just like coming here is yours."

"It's a hobby," she agrees.

He smiles, "When I heard Yog-Sothoth had come to Earth, it made me nervous you see. Your kind – there's a very sorrowful story, in those who've dealt with you before."

"I'm not," she says.

"Aren't you?"

"Not yet," she answers, hugging herself, arms pulling across her chest, face turned downwards towards the water. "I know what I am, and what I'm doing, but I'm still here. Not..." she closes her eyes, remembers the impossible music and the sleeping giant and the thing breaking through worlds and universes, brighter than the stars, larger than galaxies. "I'm not It, not really."

"And are you lying to yourself, when you say those things?"

She looks up at him, and there's a determination there, a strength there. He smiles at the sight. "No," she says. "I'm not."

"Good," he agrees. "Let that shield you. From one inveterate wanderer to another, there's much to treasure here. I'd hate for it disappear too soon."

"So you do know," she says. "I suppose you would, if you knew everything else."

He laughs, gleeful and free. "Yes, Taylor, I suppose I do. More than most on this rock in any case. And besides, you have friends, yes? People who would keep an eye on you?"

Taylor can fill in the blanks easily enough. "Lisa," she says.

"You have a useful acolyte. She serves you well."

"She recruited you?"

He shrugs, "In a matter of speaking. All three of us share the same goal, don't you think? I've seen the Dreamlands, seen what you've done to the place. It's only gotten worse, you know."

She thinks about what he just said. Sounds out the words in the privacy of her thoughts. Dreamlands. Somehow it seems right. She feels like she should have known it. Maybe some part of her always had. "Dreamlands," she mutters to herself. "So that's what it's called."

He nods, "And I feel some part of you knows you should have known that, and yet you didn't. An interesting quandary, don't you think?"

She shrugs. "I am two beings, two things at once."

"Human and cosmos. Taylor and Yog-Sothoth." He grins. "You're not the first god I've met, you know. I was worried, when I found out about you. Not so much anymore."

"You don't approve then?" she asks, with a touch of defensiveness. Even with what she's become, what she's learned, some wounds have never fully healed. For a moment, cruel words echo in her mind, spoken by someone who had once been a friend.

He spreads his hands out, defensively, backing away on the beach. "Not at all, certainly not. I've met other gods, you know." He shuddered, "Creatures like you, or close enough. Malignant or apathetic, they care not for the insects they crush. I'm glad to see you're one who'll watch her feet."

"You're welcome," she says. "I assume Lisa sent you?"

"It's pretty obvious, I suppose."

"It wasn't much a guess. I've never met you before, and Lisa... I have to admit, she has a way with people."

"Yes, she does. She's trying to help, you know, very much."

"And she is – but still... why am I telling you all this?"

"I've been told I'm a personable soul." He shrugs, it's an apathetic, almost bemused expression, like he's not convinced by his answer. "Besides, sometimes there are things the soul needs to utter, longings which cannot be shut down. And it's no big secret, is it? The weight of godhood is a heavy cross, especially for those who insist on remaining human. It would be easier to submit."

"Yes," Taylor says. "It would."

"But you won't."

"No."

"And so I say, I'm glad it is you who must hold the burden. I fear I'd have been crushed by it long ago." He sits on the beach, watching the stars shine above. He compares the scene to the sky in the Dreamlands, covered as it is by innumerable tears. "I like this place, you know. I see none of the desolation your coming has caused."

She looks up towards the sky, and smiles sadly. She can remember the cracks in the firmament, pulsing across and between universes, as something larger than reality comes crashing through. "Yes. To look at it up there, like that, you'd never guess..."

"It makes it easy to pretend, and easy to live. I can see why you come out here."

"It's a nice distraction," she says.

"Yes," he agrees. "That I can see."

"So," Taylor says, stepping onto the beach, walking up towards him. "What does Lisa want with me right now?"

The man shrugs. "I can't say, we haven't spoken in a while. She leaves me to my devices, much as I leave her to hers. She's not one to cross, you know."

"So you came of your own volition? Knowing what I am."

"What can I say? I was curious. I wished to see for myself."

"And?"

He smiles. "I believe I already said."

She nods, looking away, back towards the ocean. "I suppose you did. So then, now what? Since I don't think you came all this way just to pontificate at me."

He shrugs, "I like speaking empty words. It makes me feel eloquent."

"I don't," she answers, and the rebuke is harsh and cutting. He sighs, as she continues, "And I'd wish to know who you are."

"They called me Dmitri, when I came through. The survivors at least."

She looks at him, really looks at him, and it feels like she's reading his soul. Maybe it is. She still can't fully grasp what it is she's become. She's glad she doesn't. When she does... she doesn't like thinking about what that would mean. "Sleeper," she finally says.

"At your service."

A smile quirks her lips, "Well, I must admit, I never dreamed I'd be having a conversation with the likes of you."

He grins in reply. "I'd have said the same." He laughs, "I believe I recall having this same conversation with Lisa."

"She wanted to help you keep an eye on me."

"Not on you, but there are others in this world she does not trust."

"And she fears how I'll react."

"Wouldn't you?"

She gives no answer to that, for she doesn't need to. She studies him for a long while, and smiles small and sad. "You know, you're not quite what I expected."

"Oh, and what did you expect?"

"Something cruel. Inhuman. One of the monsters."

He shrugs, "I am a monster, but then again, I suppose so are you."

"I'm human," she insists.

He nods, "It's all just a label. Empty, isn't it?"

"Not in all cases." She shudders, remembering the image of her Dopplenger, the creature which lived only in her mind, and the image of Leviathan towering over her, and the newspaper clippings of Jack Slash.

He nods, and in his case, he thinks of a golden idol and an obsidian pharaoh, and knows that true evil does in fact exist. Her words interrupt his musings, "Still, I'm glad, you know? Lisa, good hearted though she is, she walks around on tip toes, treats me like I'm fragile, and Dad – he doesn't really know, can't fully understand. Glad to know there's someone not quite so afraid."

"Oh, I'm terrified."

"But you don't act like it."

He shrugs. "And what would be the point?" He grins. "Give Lisa time. In a few more decades, she'll come to understand. Fear has no place for those like us."

He pulls a book from empty air. It's thick and worn, with the cover faded, the pages yellow and the binding cracked. "I was told your mother was the literary sort. I'll admit it's a passion I quite share. When the world gets too heavy, when your sins revisit you, it makes a nice distraction."

She watches as he vanishes, disappears as if he'd never been. She looks down, and picks up the book left behind on the sand. She smiles sadly, remembering her mother, and memories of the past.

She opens a page at random.

Ivan Karamazov is filled with rage.


	8. Chapter 2 - Part 1 (Cauldron & Sleeper)

2.1 (Cauldron & Sleeper)

They're all seated together around a featureless table; the Doctor in her white lab coat, Alexandria dressed all in black, Contessa with her suit and fedora and Eidolon, the most powerful parahuman on Earth, almost forgettable with his mundane appearance. The doors open, and the Number Man walks in, Dinah Alcott at his side.

"This her?" Eidolon asks.

The newcomers take a seat at the table. The Doctor answers the question. "Dinah Alcott. We retrieved her from a former associate of ours. He wasn't kind." Eidolon's expression darkens but he doesn't say anything.

"She's a Pre-cog," Alexandria says. "One of the more powerful ones on record."

"Which doesn't explain why she's here," Eidolon says. "She has to be... what? Twelve? Thirteen?"

"I knew too much," says the Pre-cog. She laughs bitterly. "Besides, saving the world? There are worse causes to be a part of."

Eidolon is silent for a long moment. His hands are clenched into fists on the table. "Are you okay with this? Really?"

Dinah shrugs. "I didn't have much choice. Besides, it's better than the alternatives."

Eidolon frowns before turning his eyes towards Alexandria, and past her towards the woman in the suit. Contessa meets his gaze, and Eidolon looks away. Something akin to shame passes across his features. "I'm sorry," he says.

Dinah nods. "I know. Yet you don't do anything."

Eidolon looks towards the others. "I take it Simon won't be joining us today? You keeping him out of the loop on this as well?"

"He's in Brockton Bay still," Alexandria says.

"Has he found anything yet?"

Alexandria frowns, "Results are inconclusive. But his presence has proven useful for keeping the peace."

"Doesn't matter," Dinah says. "Bigger things are in play."

"What is going on exactly?" asks Eidolon. "Have you found out what happened? What caused that..." His voice goes silent, wistful. He smiles bitterly. "I suppose I should stop getting surprised when the world fucks us, right?"

"Unfortunately there's not much we do know," the Doctor says. "Something new. And powerful. It's set to destroy everything, if we play this wrong."

Eidolon looks towards Dinah. "Did they get this from you?"

Dinah huddles in her chair, looking even smaller than her age might suggest. "Don't make me remember," she whimpers.

"Unfortunately there's not all that much we know either," Alexandria admits reluctantly. "Three names, three faces, but little understanding as to how they all fit together."

Three photos sat together on the table, attached to three Protectorate-issue Parahuman files. Attached to those files were the names Taylor Hebert, Sarah Livsey and Sleeper. Eidolon picks up Sleeper's file and leafs through it. "He's left Russia then?"

"Guess who just set up shop in Brockton Bay?" the Number Man asks rhetorically. "Three guesses. The first two don't count."

Alexandria nods from her place at the table. "First you have the Incident, and then Sleeper comes out of solitude. You have to guess there's a connection." She looks towards Dinah.

"82.45 per-cent."

Eidolon stares at her for a long moment. She looks down towards her feet. "The probability of Sleeper connected in all this."

"It's suspicious don't you think?" Alexandria asks.

"Dangerous though," Eidolon replies. "You remember what happened in Omsk. What Sleeper did to land on our radar."

"89 per-cent chance he can be negotiated with. Sometimes he responds poorly, but not like that."

Eidolon frowns and looks towards the other two photographs. "I see. And the other two?"

"We've discussed it already," says the Doctor. "Sarah doesn't respond well to most overtures. As for Taylor..."

"The numbers skew."

"And I take it, this will be Legend's responsibility? While he's in Brockton Bay?" Eidolon looks towards Contessa. "Or are you headlining this one personally?"

"Legend's the best choice," Dinah says.

Eidolon looks towards the woman in the suit. Contessa shrugs. "I don't do well with dragons."

"Lung," he says.

Dinah nods. "94.85 per-cent chance that any cooperation with Sleeper leads us in a path towards Lung."

"Sleeper and Lung... I didn't know they had history."

"They don't," says Alexandria. "Which doesn't make this any easier."

"You've been delaying this."

The Doctor shrugs. "The stakes are high. We need to account for any potential variables. Collate the data. Especially with the personalities involved."

"You've never let fear paralyze you before."

The Doctor's expression sours, as the Number Man chuckles. "You're naive if you honestly believe that one."

Eidolon ignores the comment. "So, where is he now?"

Alexandria frowns. "In a bar."

"We're going through with this now," the Doctor says. "Once and for all. For better or worse."

Contessa gets up from her seat, opens a portal and exits the room.

* * *

L

* * *

Simon isn't in costume when he stops outside the bar. It's a decision he can't entirely say he's comfortable with, knowing what he knows about the person inside. Knowing what he knows about his own history as part of the Triumvirate, or as husband and father. Still Alexandria had insisted he keep this low profile, and his costume wasn't good at inconspicuous.

"You don't want to attract attention with this," she had told him. "Let's avoid stirring a panic."

After everything that had happened here, the least they needed was for everyone to know the Terror of Omsk had arrived. He's still not sure quite how they managed to keep that fact hushed up, but he has an idea. He knows what his colleagues are capable of. Still, he supposes some things are better off not thought about.

Like this. Meeting out of costume with the fucking Sleeper. He pushes open the door and steps into an mostly empty room. Two people are awaiting him. The first is his old comrade, the Doctor's bodyguard, Contessa. She is sitting at the bar, with a drink in hand. The second stands behind behind the counter, wiping away at a dirty glass. He is plain featured, almost bookish, with his clothes ironed and pressed. He'd almost look forgettable, but Simon had seen that face before, and the file attached to it. So it is come to this at least: a meeting with the Sleeper.

"You've kept us waiting," the Sleeper says. "Your friend said I should expect you. You are Legend, yes?"

Simon turns towards Contessa, "You sure we can trust him?"

"He has little interest in any of us," Contessa replies. "You're family's safe. I'm watching them."

The Sleeper nods. "Good. Then it's time for the pleasantries, yes? I could almost call this exciting, no?" He sets the glass down on the table. "You may call me Dmitri. As for you two?"

"Fortuna," Contessa says, without skipping a beat. Simon pauses, and the word feels lodged in his throat.

Dmitri studies him for a long time. "I see. Trust is hard to come by. But you would trust your associates in the Protectorate with far more than a mere name, would you not?"

"You're not them," he says, the words summoned as if on their own, breaking free from censure. Contessa watches, silently, and for a moment he wonders if she will step in. Try to diffuse this. Or if even now, she has everything running according to script.

Dmitri starts laughing, loud and earnest. "You are honest. I like that. Most people when faced with me aren't so honest you understand. Most would give up whatever it was I asked for. Makes life rather boring, between you and me."

Simon looks back towards Contessa, feeling strangely paralyzed. He wonders whether this was the first such meeting between them, or if there were others preceding this. She rarely left such things to chance. He's not quite sure what to think of it. He's not quite sure what to think of any of this. Meeting out of costume, in a bar of all places. It's not what he sighed up for.

"I've vetted everything," Contessa says. "Studied the Sleeper, tried to prepare for this. But no. Nothing more than that."

"So it's just us three," Simon says.

"Is it?" Dmitri smiles. "I'd think there's a lot more than just the three of us involved. So then, let's get down to... how do you Americans say it? Brass tacks, yes? You have something for me, don't you?"

Contessa pulls out a pair of photographs and lays them on the table. Simon picks them up, astonished to find the faces of two teenage girls. Barely more than children.

Sleeper smiles, "I was wondering if anyone noticed those two." He steeples his finger, "Tell me, because I'm curious. Which do you think is the greater threat?"

Contessa doesn't even hesitate. "Lisa."

Sleeper grins. "I've heard stories of you. They call you the Bogieman, don't they? That you know all, see all. Never make a mistake." He pauses. "You're good. Playing to my vanity, my need to make dramatics, offering me my teaching moment."

"So we're correct then. Taylor is the bigger threat."

Sleeper laughs. "They're both threats. But if it's a weapon against the Destroyer you're looking for, Taylor would be the horse to back."

Contessa leans forwards, all ears as he elaborates. Legend sits back, listening, letting Contessa take the lead for now. But he'll make sure to mark his questions for later. He has many.

"You call it Scion, of course. We call it the Destroyer."

"Wait," Legend interrupts. "You're telling us to turn two schoolgirls against Scion?"

"No, no, no. You misunderstand me. I'm not telling you to do anything so prosaic as that. I would have thought your group would have figured things out by now." He looks towards Contessa, "And you have, I assume. Tell me, do you often play dear Legend for a stooge? I'd think he'd know a bit more of what we were up against."

Contessa looked towards Legend. "I'm sorry. There's too much we don't know, and we couldn't be sure... Keep the information protected, you know how it works."

Legend studies her, not sure if he can trust her, not knowing if this is another game. He turns back towards Sleeper. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Whether or not I'd been told. Not much I could have done about it anyway?"

"Ah, but you could be a danger you know," Sleeper agrees. "Drawing any kind of target on their backs would be unwise. Still, if wishes were horses maybe the lot of us would be riding right now, rather than sitting in this bar."

"You've gotten distracted," Contessa says.

Sleeper nods. "I do that. See what happens when you're not here to keep this cat herd grounded? Now, where was I? Yes. As far as Scion goes, you'd be best keeping Scion far away from those two. Bad things will happen otherwise."

Contessa nods. "We suspected that much. Hoped for more, but it's not a surprise."

"If only it were so easy, no?"

"If only."

Sleeper smiles. "And so you come to me, plotting to suss out their secrets. Sadly, telling such things would be impossible. Some things can't be shared through word of mouth."

"What's your solution then?" asks Legend.

Sleeper smiles. "It's simple. You and I. Lisa and Taylor. We all have a shared enemy of sorts, and in chasing it, I'm sure some truths will come to focus."

"You're talking about Scion," says Contessa.

Sleeper's smile widens into a grin. "I've always wanted to kill a god."

"Killing Scion, is it possible?"

Sleeper thinks on this for a while. "Well not for you, certainly not as you are right now. But still, there's a chance. A small one, I fear, but a chance."

There's a beat of silence. Contessa studies him for a long moment and then smiles a feral smile, and unlike most of her expressions, this one looks more real than artificial. "I'm in."

Sleeper holds up his glass. "Well then, here's a toast to the future. Let's kill a god."


End file.
